I Don't Care if Heaven Won't Take Me Back
by andaere
Summary: A series of oneshots and drabbles detailing the adventures of Dean and crazy!Cas in Purgatory. Now AU since Season 8 began airing. Primarily gen, but can be Destiel if you squint. Rated T only for Dean's bad mouth. Ch 5: A random conversation while walking through Purgatory. Also, Dean's self-worth issues make an appearance.
1. Conflict and Comfort

**Hello everyone! This is my first Supernatural story. It's a oneshot, but I also have various drabbles I've written related to this, so I might turn this into a collection of oneshots and drabbles. It depends on my muse, and whether people want to read more. This isn't explicitly written as Destiel, but it can be viewed as that if you put on your slash goggles. However, it's primarily gen. Enjoy, and please let me know what you thought!**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Supernatural. Also, the title is taken from the song Angel With a Shotgun by The Cab, which I don't own. If you haven't heard it, though, you should check it out - it's the perfect theme song for Castiel!**

* * *

Dean and Castiel are walking through a forest (which is classic Purgatory scenery, Dean has learned) when Dean hears a growl. That's not exactly unusual here, but it's never a good sign. That particular growl sounded very, very close and very, very vicious. Dean stops walking and looks at Cas apprehensively.

"Did you hear that?" he asks the angel.

Castiel turns to look at him. Thankfully, his eyes are focused and aware. He's still cuckoo for Coco Puffs and doesn't like conflict, but Dean can usually count on him to nut up (ha, ha) when they're about to be attacked. And in Purgatory, a nearby growl plus no cover equals an imminent fight. Dean doesn't need a college diploma to figure that out.

"I hear it," Cas says grimly.

Great. Dean kind of wishes he had imagined it. Normally he wouldn't be so reluctant about tangling with a monster, but this is Purgatory, also known as Monster Funland. Here, the monsters are stronger than ever and they can't be killed, just temporarily incapacitated. Worse, Dean's only weapon is one measly knife. He was expecting to gank Dick with that bone or die trying, neither of which required a lot of weapons.

He'd like to say that he has a fully-powered badass angel on his side, but Castiel is never a certainty these days, in the strength of his powers or the likelihood of his help. Most of the time, he won't fight and Dean has to take care of it. When things get bad and Dean's really in trouble, Cas will step in, but he's nearly inconsolable afterwards, convinced that because he participated in conflict something awful will happen, something even worse than Purgatory. Castiel claims that they're in Purgatory because he agreed to participate in conflict and fight Dick. Dean can't really argue with that because it's technically true, although the logic is pretty twisted. But that's what crazy is, right? Twisted logic.

"Do you know what monster that is? Or _where_ it is?" Dean asks, forcing himself to focus on their immediate problem. He can't fix Cas, but hopefully he can deal with this monster.

"I believe it's an Orthrus," Cas replies. "They haven't been on Earth in centuries – well, not in corporeal form. All of these monsters were on Earth a few months ago, when they were inside me…"

Cas looks down, fiddling with the hospital bracelet on his wrist. Dean can see him shutting down, his posture hunching and his eyes clouding over. Shit.

"Hey, Cas. Look at me."

After a second, Cas obeys, lifting his eyes to Dean. There's guilt swirling there, and self-loathing, and it's such a familiar look – a _Winchester_ look – that Dean's speechless for a moment. (When did their angel become so... human? So broken?) But Dean can also see the insanity lurking in Castiel's eyes, can sense his desire to hide inside his fragmented mind, and he can't allow that, not right now.

"I need you to focus, Cas," Dean says, holding Cas's gaze. He makes sure to keep his voice gentle but urgent. "Can you do that for me?"

_You better, crazy or not,_ Dean thinks. _You're all I've got down here._

But before Cas can answer, something leaps out at them, snarling. Dean recognizes that growl – they waited too long.

He pulls out his knife, slashing wildly at the monster. He gets a glimpse of two heads, mangy fur, teeth, claws, and what look like – antlers?

_Dude, you fugly, _Dean thinks.

The monster lunges at Cas, who flies to the opposite side of the clearing. Dean heaves a breath of relief. The monsters often go for Cas – attracted to his Grace, recognizing him, or both, Dean's not sure. But every time Dean worries, because Cas – well, nowadays Cas makes him feel very protective, that's all. But at least Cas had the presence of mind to dodge the monster.

The creature spins around, confused, and Dean takes the opportunity to rush at it with his knife. This might not have been the greatest idea, because the thing's fur is surprisingly resistant and the well-sharpened knife doesn't even draw blood.

Dean backs up, planning to try again and aim for one of its four eyes this time, but it's faster than Dean expected. Before he knows it, he's flat on his back, the monster looming over him, jagged claws digging into his shoulders. Dean twists back and forth, but the monster's got him pinned down good.

"Cas!" Dean grunts. "Where are you, you feathery bastard?"

The monster leans toward his neck – for a killing bite or to suck his blood, Dean's not sure. Maybe both. There are all sorts of monsters here, and they all get their jollies in different ways.

_Cas, I could use a little help here, _Dean thinks, just in case Castiel is in prayer distance. Of course, for all Dean knows, Cas could be right next to him, dithering because he "doesn't wanna fight." If so, screw that. Dean's in trouble.

Just as Dean gets a disturbingly close look at the inside of one of the monster's mouths (weirdly enough, it's green), he hears a familiar rustle of feathers. Seconds later, Dean's alone.

He lies there panting for a moment, then pushes himself up and brushes some leaves off his clothes. Gingerly, he inspects his aching shoulders. It feels like they're on fire (and yeah, having been in Hell, he knows what that feels like). There are four holes in each shoulder, torn through his shirt and skin and oozing blood.

"Awesome," Dean mutters.

First aid materials in Purgatory are practically nonexistent, and Dean really doesn't want to tear up his shirt. It gets cold sometimes, and there are no other manmade materials here. He wants to hang on to the ones he has as long as he can. Luckily, he manages to find some moss that makes a decent enough bandage, if not an entirely sterile one. It's not like his shirt would've made a clean bandage, either. There's no laundry in Purgatory.

Once he's got that all figured out, Dean sits back and waits for Cas.

It probably doesn't take that long, but Dean can feel himself getting antsy. He hates to admit it, but ever since they arrived and Castiel disappeared for a bit, Dean has had trouble letting Cas go off by himself here. It's partly concern for Cas and partly fear of being alone. Of course, admitting that would be the epitome of a chick-flick moment, and even thinking it is pretty bad, so Dean spends the next few minutes playing Back in Black in his head (and maybe singing along a little). He misses AC/DC.

He misses a lot of things. But he doesn't want to think about that.

Dean looks up from his intense contemplation of a twig on the ground (and cuts off his mental soundtrack of Highway to Hell) when he hears Castiel return. To Dean's surprise, Cas is soaking wet, his hair plastered to his forehead and his clothes waterlogged. He looks a bit like a drowned puppy. But his hair also reminds Dean of that ruined future version of Cas, and the water reminds him of this Cas, possessed by Leviathans, walking into a lake. He doesn't really want to think of either of those things, so he pushes them aside into the large box labeled _Shit I'm Not Gonna Deal With_.

"Cas?" Dean says, standing up. "What happened?"

"I fell into a lake," Cas says, with an honest-to-God _pout_.

"What? How?"

"I meant to drop the Orthrus into a lake," Cas says. "But he didn't go down easily. He scratched me. And he hung on when I tried to drop him, so I dropped too, and then I got wet. He _scratched_ me, Dean."

"I didn't know there were lakes in Purgatory."

"Me neither. That was a happy accident, really. My other plan was to drop him very high in the trees, but a lake worked better."

Dean shakes his head and rubs a hand down his face, because – his life. Just – how is this his life?

"Dean, you're hurt," Castiel says, instantly all wide-eyed concern. He walks right up to Dean, his usual disregard of personal space even more irritating now that he's drenched and smells like filthy water. Cas reaches up to prod at Dean's shoulder, and Dean can't hold back wince, because, well... it hurts like a bitch. Which is appropriate, considering that Orthrus-thing looked a lot like a dog. But Cas had called it a he. Too bad; Dean had been building up to a really good joke.

Castiel jabs at Dean's shoulder again, causing a fiery twinge of pain to shoot down Dean's nerves, and Dean hisses. "Dude, can you heal that or do you just like poking at it?"

A second later the burning feeling is gone, and Dean looks down to see that the holes have almost closed up. Well, there's the answer to his question. The healing isn't quite the perfect job that Castiel used to do – maybe his powers aren't as strong or his mind can't focus as well. But the pain has disappeared, and the bleeding's stopped, and that's all that really matters to Dean.

"Thanks," Dean says. Castiel smiles. Then he just stands there, dripping wet and occasionally shivering. Dean tries (and fails) to hold back a sigh. Much of the time, having Cas around feels like having a hapless guard dog that is sometimes helpful but mostly helpless.

"Maybe you should dry your clothes too," Dean suggests. "It'd be more comfortable."

Cas blinks and does that little head tilt of his. It probably never occurred to him to dry his clothing. Cas has always been pretty disconnected to his wardrobe – well, except for that trenchcoat. It's good to see him wearing the trenchcoat again.

A second later, Cas is dry, and the gross-water smell is gone. Dean sighs in relief and sits down against a tree. Cas joins him.

They are silent for a moment. Dean tries to come to terms with the fact that he has survived yet another near-death experience. That's becoming pretty commonplace nowadays. He's not sure if he's thankful or not.

"He scratched me," Cas says again, breaking into Dean's admittedly morose thoughts. "The Orthrus. He scratched me."

"Yeah, you said that," Dean says. "Sorry, man. Rough fight. Did you heal it?"

"I wasn't fighting him, Dean. Not really. I was just... transporting him somewhere against his will. But he scratched me anyways. I didn't like it, Dean. It hurt. I _really_ didn't like it."

_Oh,_ Dean realizes. _Here comes the breakdown. _That's another bit of math that Dean's learned in Purgatory. Castiel plus conflict equals breakdown. Dean had hoped to avoid it, but when does he ever get what he wants?

And sure enough, Cas is losing it. Dean just hopes that he still has the energy to piece Castiel back together – as together as he gets now, anyways.

"I want to go home," Castiel whimpers. He sounds incredibly small and scared. "I don't like it here."

He looks at Dean, his eyes wide and terrifyingly shiny, his lip trembling. He looks at Dean like Dean can _help_ him. But all Dean can do is open his idiot mouth and say, "What home?"

Because, well – heaven's not really Cas's home anymore. But Earth isn't either. The closest he's ever come to home would be Bobby's place, and that's gone, too. (It's not just Bobby's _house_ that's gone. Dean still can't believe that sometimes.) But Dean's words, while true, just cause the tears in Castiel's eyes to spill over. Fantastic. Score one for Dick Dean.

Cas hitches a breath and sobs, "I just – I don't wanna be here anymore, Dean. I wanna go away. I wanna see the bees again, and feel the sun, and smell the flowers, and I don't wanna fight or get jumped at or yelled at or –"

"Shh, shh," Dean soothes quickly, because Castiel's voice is approaching hysterical and they need to be quiet here. (Also because Dean can't stand listening to this once awe-inspiring creature fall apart. It's happened before, but he's still not used to it. He never will be.) "It's okay, Cas. It's okay. We're gonna get out of here."

"No, we're not," Cas sniffs, swiping clumsily at the tears on his face. Dean tries to ignore the awful feeling he gets when watching an angel cry. "Purgatory is designed as a battleground for monsters, and a waiting room for other souls. We can't 'get out,' Dean. We have to wait, without any insects or honey to make it better."

Dean shifts a bit, unsettled, because that sounded like sane, old Cas knowledge (well, minus the insect part), and Dean doesn't want to hear that. But then he rallies himself and says, "Well, I wasn't supposed to be able to get out of Hell, either, but you managed that. We'll be fine, Cas. Trust me."

"Of course, Dean," Castiel sighs. "I do trust you."

Dean hears what he leaves unspoken: _It's myself I don't trust._ Well, frankly, Dean's not entirely sure he trusts Cas either, and he trusts himself least of all. But that's not what Cas needs to hear right now, and that's not what will get them out of here.

Castiel seems to be calming down, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief. He never signed up to soothe hysterical angels, but it's been a job he's had to take on in Purgatory. Each time he's worried that he won't be able to calm Cas down and that Cas will fly off or waste all his mojo or do something else catastrophic. And each time it's a painful reminder of how changed and broken Cas is. But Dean's success rate at soothing Cas has been good so far, and that brings Dean some measure of triumph. He'll take his victories where he can.

Silence falls upon them, broken only by the occasional sniffle from Cas. They seem to be decreasing in frequency. Dean leans his head back against the tree serving as his backrest and closes his eyes. He hears Castiel shift around and then Dean feels a sudden weight against his side. Startled, Dean stiffens, opens his eyes, turns his head and – yep, sure enough, he's got a crazy angel head on his shoulder.

"What d'you think you're doing?" Dean asks, wondering if he should feel violated. He has to turn his head to the side so he doesn't get a mouthful of Cas's hair when he speaks.

"Resting," Castiel answers, his tone guileless and relaxed. Dean reminds himself that Castiel is an angel and doesn't know that dudes don't do this. In fact, Cas isn't even a dude, not really. He's just… wearing one.

Cas sighs deeply and melts a little further against Dean. He seems completely calm now, his breaths soft and even and his expression blissful. He turns his face towards Dean, practically nuzzling his neck. Dean wouldn't normally allow this kind of... behavior (he refuses to call it "cuddling"), but he can feel the drying tear tracks on Cas's face, and he once again feels that powerful protectiveness swell up inside him. He gives up on feeling uncomfortable and just laughs a little as Cas burrows into him. It's not like anyone can see them anyway.

"You've gotten really touchy-feely since you went crazy, you know that?" Dean asks, recalling Castiel's forceful group hug when he and Sam had first seen him at the mental hospital.

"I really wish people would stop calling me crazy," Cas mumbles, his words muffled because he's talking into the crook of Dean's neck. "S'not very nice."

"Well, sorry, princess. Being nice is my greatest concern here, after all," Dean quips. He does feel a little bad, though. By this point, calling Cas crazy is practically affectionate, like calling Sam Sasquatch. But clearly Cas doesn't see it like that.

"Being nice should be everyone's greatest concern," Cas responds sternly, though the effect of his tone is lessened because he still won't move his head enough to speak clearly. "And m'not a princess."

Dean rolls his eyes. Castiel scoots a bit closer to Dean, who brings his arm up around Castiel's shoulders to make sure he stays steady. Then Dean leans his head back against the tree again, closing his eyes and enjoying the rare moment of peace. Dean feels the weight of Cas's head on his shoulder, his soft breath on Dean's skin, his strangely human warmth pressing against Dean's side. He feels solid and real, and Dean comforts himself with the thought that even though Cas isn't all here mentally, and may never be again, he's still here with Dean physically. He's still alive. They both are.

It's a small comfort, but again, Dean will take what he can get.

* * *

**Orthrus is a two-headed dog in Greek mythology. There's only one of him, though, not a species like I made it out to be in this 'fic. Also, I made up the antlers and the green mouth. But I wanted my monster to be based on something "real." **

**I hope you enjoyed the story! Feel free to leave a review. And if my muse is compliant, I may update!**


	2. Guilt is Not a One Way Street

**Hey everyone! Thanks so much for the follows and favorites. I really appreciate it! So I decided to turn this into a oneshot/drabble series. This chapter is the oneshot that started it all - I imagined this scene and was inspired to finally try my hand at Supernatural fanfiction. This one is primarily a character study with a look at some of the infamous Winchester psyche issues. I'm not really sure how it turned out, so please let me know what you thought!**

* * *

"I want you to yell at me," Dean says to Castiel one day – night – whatever – in Purgatory. They're in one of the surprisingly long stretches of time in between ganking one monster and running into another. When Dean first woke up in Purgatory, he'd thought it'd be nonstop hunting (and being hunted) until he finally didn't duck in time or slept for too long and the monsters got to him. He wasn't entirely wrong – there's certainly a lot of hunting and running and fighting. But there are also nearly unbearable hours or days or weeks where all they do is walk through a forest. Dean is getting really sick of forests. If he gets out of Purgatory he's never going to visit a forest again. He'll join an anti-environmental protection group and help cut down trees or something. Oh, and speaking of things he's getting tired of - he's pretty sick of this new, crazy version of Castiel. Hence his latest conversation topic.

Cas stares at Dean blankly, his blue eyes wide. "Sorry?"

"Yell at me," Dean repeats.

"I don't understand," Cas says slowly, and for a moment he sounds just like his old self, back before the civil war and the betrayal and the souls and breaking Sam's wall and losing his memory and taking on Sam's madness and - man, they have been through way too much shit. "I am not angry with you, Dean."

"Exactly," Dean responds. "You're never angry. You have a shitload of reasons to be – you're stuck in Purgatory, I'm annoying, there are no bees here, whatever – but you're never angry. That can't be healthy. So, yell at me. It'll help you blow off some steam, trust me."

Castiel frowns, a small furrow appearing in his brow. "It's you who should be yelling at me, Dean. You've much more reason to have a quarrel with me."

Cas's voice is unusually serious. (Well, he used to only have one tone of voice and it was Serious, but since he went crazy his new tone is usually Rambling Hippy Pacifist). When he looks at Dean, his eyes are focused and - remorseful?

"The things I did -"

"We've been over this, Cas," Dean interrupts. "I know you're sorry. So quit sayin' it."

_I'm just not sure that you know what sorry means,_ Dean thinks. _I don't know if angels are capable of regret, or if crazy people can ever really understand what they've done or how they feel. And I don't know if I can forgive you, and I don't know if I can forgive myself for letting things get this bad. _

Man, Purgatory gives him too much time to think, and not enough beer to drink. Dean doesn't know how to deal with all this.

"Sorry," Cas says again. His eyes widen as he realizes what he just said, and he opens his mouth to speak, but Dean cuts in first.

"_Don't_ say sorry for saying sorry. That is so lame."

Castiel shuts his mouth and nods meekly. They walk in silence for a while, Cas glancing fearfully at Dean every now and then, as if Dean was being unreasonable and Cas is worried Dean's gonna start bitching about something else. Personally, Dean thinks he has every right to be unreasonable. He's stuck in freakin' _Purgatory_. They all need their coping mechanisms. Castiel rambles about bees, and Dean, since they have no alcohol here, apparently lashes out at Cas. Which brings Dean back to his original thought.

"I don't care who has more right to yell at who," Dean says. "We've all wronged each other at some point, man. I just think you should yell at me. You'll feel better, really."

Cas tilts his head a little, studying Dean carefully. Nowadays, Cas doesn't maintain eye contact as long as he used to (which, by the way, was _ridiculously long_), but this stare has Dean struggling not to look away. Angel staring matches can be exhausting, probably because they're literally staring into your soul. Which is why Dean isn't really that surprised when Castiel says, slightly perplexed, "You think you deserved to be yelled at."

Dean shrugs, not trying to deny it. He remembers a different day, a different situation, but similar words, said in that same, dumbfounded tone. _You don't think you deserve to be saved._

He thinks of everything Castiel has done for him, from raising him from Hell and rebelling against Heaven to dying for him multiple times and saving his life on countless occasions. Yes, Cas betrayed him and hurt Sam and Dean may never fully forgive him for that, but Dean knows it's not all on Cas. Maybe if Dean had tried harder, helped more, been more understanding, more appreciative... Castiel has done so much for all of them, and now he's a broken mess. It just seems wrong, and maybe if Cas finally got mad it would be right again. _Cas_ would be right again.

"We've all wronged each other at some point," Dean repeats.

Cas shakes his head. "If that is true, then shouldn't we - I believe the expression is... let bygones be bygones? I am not going to yell at you, Dean. I'm not angry with you. And you should not be angry with yourself. I suggest you practice meditation instead. Peace, harmony, and communication will make everything better."

"Uh huh," Dean says. "If that hippy crap works for you. But seriously, dude, no one's that zen. You've gotta be bottling it all up inside. You can't _never_ be mad. That's impossible."

"I think I was angry when we fought Dick," Cas says.

There's an uncertainty to his voice that Dean isn't used to hearing, even after all this time spent wandering Purgatory with this new version of Cas. Before, Castiel had always been so sure of himself. Now, he's convinced that any action on his part will result in certain doom.

"Yeah, but you're not angry _now_."

"No," Cas agrees placidly. "I don't think anger is very conductive to improving one's mood. Gardenias, on the other hand –"

"For God's sake," Dean finally snaps, his voice rising. "Stop rambling for once and just _yell_ _at me_."

Dean's tone is, admittedly, a bit harsh. But Castiel is making him lose his patience, and he never had much of that to begin with, especially after far too long in Purgatory (which, by the way, was seemingly created purely to try Dean's patience).

Cas flinches, his head dropping down to stare at his feet, still clad in those ridiculous hospital slippers. Dean's once again amazed at how this thousand-year-old being can look just like a chastised child in these circumstances. It seems to be mocking all of the times Dean called Cas a child, back when they were still friends and Cas was sane.

"But I don't wanna fight," Cas says in a small voice, and Dean feels like a dick.

"I know you don't," he sighs. "Forget it."

They walk in strained silence. Dean takes the opportunity to reevaluate his options. Clearly he won't be able to atone for his past misdeeds by facing Castiel's wrath. For a moment Dean longs for a monster to attack just so he can channel all of his negative energy into that. Hell, maybe he should even consider meditation. (Yeah, right.) But then he thinks of a more productive (and probably healthier) solution.

"I'm sorry, Cas," Dean says, the words feeling weird but good on his tongue. "Go ahead, tell me more about the gar-whatevers."

Cas glances up at Dean tentatively, his face brightening as he recognizes Dean's sincerity.

"Gardenias," he corrects. "They're a flowering plant of the order Gentianales, indigenous to Africa, Asia, and Oceania, and of course Joshua's lovely garden in Heaven..."

Cas keeps talking, but Dean stops listening at that point. Cas is bright-eyed and rambling and cheerful. Dean's done his job.

They keep walking.


	3. Bugs Make Everything Better

**Thank you so much for the responses to the last chapter! I'm so glad people are enjoying it. I'd especially like to thank netherlady, Laken, Mandy, and auStraliS23 for taking the time to leave a review. You all rock!**

**I've got a fast update for you because this chapter's pretty short. It's more of a drabble than a oneshot. Also, I figured that the show is going to joss me when the first episode airs, so I might as well get out what I can before the premiere!**

**Also, when I decided to write this collection, I told myself that I would stay away from the "crazy!Cas talks about bees and bugs" trope because I'd seen it so often. But then I rewatched crazy!Cas's scenes and, well, he talks about bugs (bees in particular) A LOT. So I gave up. It's an essential part of his character.**

* * *

"Did you know that there are over a million species of insects on Earth? And those are only the ones that humankind has found and named. There are millions more that my Father created, just waiting to be discovered."

"That's a lot of bugs," Dean says. They're walking through the forest again and Dean's starting to get hungry. He'd hoped that he wouldn't have to worry about food or sleep in Purgatory, but his body is just as stuck here as his soul is. Unfortunately, that also means that if he dies down here, he's gone for good. Unlike the Purgatory monsters, he's not coming back. It's the same for Cas, although at least he doesn't have to eat or sleep. His angel powers are mostly intact, if not his mind.

They walk in silence for a little while longer until Cas pipes up with another random, useless fact.

"A cockroach can live for nine days without its head before it starves to death. The resiliency of insects is truly amazing, Dean. In fact, bees can –"

"When we get out of here, you should become one of those people who study bugs," Dean interrupts. "What are they called again?"

"Entomologists."

"Right. One of those. Hell, I could join you, since by now I know way more about bugs than I ever wanted to. Might as well put that knowledge to use."

"That would be pleasant," Castiel says, staring up at Dean with an unnervingly earnest expression. Then he smiles, which is still a sight that Dean doesn't think he'll ever get used to. It's not a bad sight, but it's just so different from the Cas that Dean used to know.

"I would like that," Cas continues, his smile widening.

Dean imagines the two of them back on Earth, Cas poking underneath rocks and communing with bugs while Dean pretends to take notes but really drinks beer. Sam would be reclining in a chair close to them, reading some big-ass book about law or something. It's a ridiculous image, and there are so many reasons why it'll never happen, but Dean feels lighter for a second or two just thinking about it.

"C'mon," he says gruffly, shaking his head and slapping Castiel's shoulder in an effort to jostle both of them out of their girly daydream. (He can tell by Castiel's spaced-out smile that Dean was not the only one with his head in the clouds just then. Although really, Cas's head is always in the clouds. It's a side-effect of being an angel, and a crazy one at that.) "Unlike a cockroach, I can't last for nine days without a head. I'm starving."

"That's an imperfect analogy, Dean. You still have a head," Castiel says, his eyes clearing slightly and his smile diminishing. He easily follows along as Dean veers towards a thicket of bushes that might contain something edible. Dean's trying to reacquaint himself with the reality of Purgatory, and he suspects that Cas is as well, but to a lesser extent. Castiel and reality aren't really bosom buddies these days.

"Yeah, I've still got a head... for now," Dean mutters darkly.

In Purgatory, it's only a matter of time.


	4. In Which Dean Worries and Cas Rambles

**Hey everyone! I hope I haven't lost you all during the wait for an update. I've got a long one for you this time. And it's kind of a wing!fic. I hope you enjoy it! Thanks again for the favorites - I'm so happy to know that people like this story! Finally, extra thanks to Mandy for the lovely review. :)**

* * *

"Dean. Dean, wake up," Dean hears a gruff voice – Cas – saying as he's shaken awake. Dean startles upright, knife already in hand, looking around for any possible threat. He's never been a light sleeper, and Purgatory only cemented that. But he only sees Castiel's familiar, worried blue eyes.

"What is it?" Dean asks.

Cas simply raises his arm and points to Dean's right. Dean looks over and sees – a hive. He groans. "Cas, if you woke me up just to show me some bees, I swear to God –"

"Those aren't bees, Dean," Castiel says, still looking anxious. Dean's not sure if Castiel is just more expressive now or if Dean's gotten better at reading him, but Dean can see the concern in his eyes and in the way his fingers are clenching and releasing into his palms. On Dean's mental scale of How Much Cas is Freaked Out, it's probably a six or seven out of ten. Hardly apocalyptic, but not good, either.

"Well, then, what the hell are they?" Dean asks. "Monster bugs?"

Cas nods miserably. "They're not very nice, Dean. We have to go."

That's all the warning Dean gets before Castiel places two fingers on Dean's forehead and they flap off to somewhere else. Angel Air is as fun as ever, and it takes Dean a while to get his bearings. He glances around, but there's not much to see except trees. He doesn't see any hives around here, though, or any other obvious dangers.

Dean glances at Castiel, who is frowning. He doesn't look very happy to have finally discovered insects. Dean mostly isn't happy because he had to wake up and, well, he had been having a pretty awesome dream about that one girl – Tammi, he thinks her name was – and what she could do with her tongue. Waking up to Purgatory hadn't been much fun.

"We clear?" Dean asks.

"Yes."

Dean waits for a second, but Castiel doesn't say anything else.

"Alright, then I'm going back to sleep. Keep watch," Dean says. He knows by now to grab his restful hours while he can. When he's awake, he's either running, fighting, eating, or walking. He doesn't feel like doing any of those things right now, and he doesn't have to, so – sleep it is.

"Yes, Dean." Castiel stations himself by Dean's side as Dean lies down on the ground. One surface is pretty much as good as another here. Dean closes his eyes and falls into a restless sleep.

* * *

Dean wakes up to a lot of blue. He blinks a few times, and the blue resolves itself into Castiel's unblinking eyes, staring at him from inches away. Dean only jumps a little this time. Sadly, he's almost gotten used to this. The first time he'd bolted upright and nearly slashed Cas with his knife before he got his bearings. Needless to say, that hadn't gone over well, and it'd taken a while to calm Cas down. Now, Dean just groans.

"Dude, could you stop doing that? It's freaky."

Castiel casts Dean a wounded look. "But I am guarding you."

Dean sighs. He appreciates the sentiment, but – "I can take care of myself. And when you're keeping watch, you're supposed to be watching the stuff _around_ us, not creeping on me."

"Oh." Cas finally backs up a bit, still staring at Dean, but now he's giving puppy dog eyes. Dean remembers Castiel's eyes when they were cold and unfeeling, instilled with a smug self-assuredness in Heaven and God. Those eyes now seem as if they belong to someone else, an entirely different Castiel. And that's not too far off, really – there's no denying that Cas has changed from the cold-hearted dick with wings he was in the beginning. Now he can give puppy dog eyes.

Still. Dean can vividly remember Castiel telling him that he wasn't here to perch on Dean's shoulder and threatening to throw him back into Hell. He recalls the static energy in the air and the smell of ozone as Cas somehow towered over him despite being physically shorter. He remembers the awe and fear that he grudgingly felt when he realized that he was getting a smack-down from an honest-to-God _angel_.

Dean looks at Castiel, assessing him. His eyes are soft, filled with innocence, timidity, and what Dean suspects is a mix of willful ignorance and denial about the hard stuff. And, of course, the disquieting but distinct lack of sanity. Dean misses the intimidating warrior angel.

"Okay, well, I'm safe. Relatively," Dean says, shaking himself out of his funk and getting back to business. Weirdly enough, sometimes Purgatory gives him too much time to think. He's glad not to be running all of the time, though. But they can't ever stay in one place for too long, so he adds, "Now let's get going before something finds us."

Cas nods in agreement. He stands up from his crouch at Dean's side, wavers unsteadily, and then promptly falls down on his ass. Then he just sits there, looking faintly perplexed.

Dean stares, feeling the first faint stirrings of concern. He can't even bring himself to laugh at the funny sight he just witnessed. (Maybe later, if everything is okay. But maybe there won't even be a later.)

Cas has never been clumsy. He's always possessed a superhuman grace, possibly because of his actual angel Grace. This is not normal.

"What's wrong?" Dean asks, keeping his voice steady.

"I… don't know," Cas says, still looking slightly confused.

"Well, what happened? Why'd you fall down?"

"I stood up, and then… the trees looked like they were moving, but I'm pretty sure they weren't, and then I was on the floor."

"So… you got dizzy."

"Dizzy," Castiel says slowly, as if he's testing out a new word. (Maybe he is.) "Yes, I got dizzy."

"Do you know why?"

Castiel just blinks at him, innocent and childlike. Dean sighs.

"C'mon, let's get you up," he says, reaching down to take Castiel's hand. With a grunt, Dean heaves the angel upright. This time, Cas is steady, and when Dean cautiously lets go, Cas stays standing.

"I think I'm okay now, Dean, thank you," Cas says. "The trees are staying still."

"Okay, great. Now, why do you think they started moving in the first place? Have you been feeling sick?"

If Castiel is getting sick, that's a problem. Not only because he's Dean's only ally here, but also because angels definitely don't get sick. Could this dizziness be an indicator of Cas's failing Grace? Or something much worse?

"Dean, don't you think our experience in Purgatory would be greatly improved if we sang marching songs? I believe they would help us maintain a rhythm to our travel and create the illusion of time going by faster," Cas says in that far-off voice he gets when he starts spouting his particular brand of nonsense.

Dean refrains from rolling his eyes through a supreme force of will and replies, "I don't know any marching songs, Cas. Now try to focus and tell me – have you been feeling sick at all?"

"I don't – what does 'sick' feel like?"

"Crappy," Dean says. "You have a fever, your throat's sore, your head hurts, it's hard to breathe… stuff like that."

"No, I have not experienced any of those symptoms."

"Great. Well, tell me if you do."

"Yes, Dean."

And with that, the issue is settled. For the moment, at least. Dean heads in a random direction and Cas trots over to join him, and they keep walking.

* * *

It doesn't become an issue again until later that day (or maybe it's a different day, it's not like Dean can really tell). Dean is picking some questionable yellow berries off a bush (Cas said they were edible, and Dean may not entirely trust him or his mind but he does trust angel intuition, even from a broken angel). Castiel is standing guard while simultaneously rambling about… something. Hopefully at least part of him is focused on their surroundings. Dean's got one ear tuned to Cas's voice and one ear focused on sounds from outside, just in case.

"When the Homo sapiens sapiens discovered fire, that's when some of the angels grew excited. For so long we had watched humanity struggle with the simplest tasks, and we knew that the discovery of fire would be an important milestone. It keeps predators away, it cooks food, provides light and energy and warmth…"

"I could really use a fire right now," Dean mutters ruefully. Unfortunately, in Purgatory, lighting a fire is only effective as a way to advertise your presence. The monsters here aren't afraid of a few flames.

"You can't light a fire here, Dean," Cas says. "It's not safe."

"I know that. I just said that I could _use_ a fire, not that I would _make_ one."

"Oh! Fires! That reminds me. When the Homo sapiens sapiens discovered fire, the angels grew very excited. For a long time we had watched you –"

"Cas, you just said that," Dean interrupts, exasperated. He can barely handle Castiel's ramblings once. There's no way he's going through them twice.

Cas frowns. "I know I did, Balthazar," he says, and okay, whoa. That's when Dean's alarm bells start ringing. Because Cas's particular brand of insanity has never involved confusing Dean for Balthazar, or hallucinating, or whatever's going on here. Coupled with Castiel's dizzy spell earlier, Dean feels his concern skyrocket.

"What did you call me?" Dean asks.

Cas stares at him in confusion. "Dean. That's – that's your name, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but – you didn't call me Dean. You called me Balthazar."

Cas huffs, looking slightly peeved. In his new hippy peace-love persona, "slightly peeved" is the equivalent of "very annoyed." But Dean's too worried (and yeah, he's man enough to admit it, in his own mind at least) to care.

Cas says grumpily, "Why did you ask me what I called you if you already supposedly knew the answer? Perhaps you just thought I said Balthazar."

"Yeah, because Dean and Balthazar sound so similar," Dean scoffs. "Seriously, are you feeling okay?"

"_Yes_, Dean. I feel fine. Better than fine, actually. I am experiencing this pleasant floating feeling – similar to when I would hover above the earth – except this time I am not hovering, at least, I don't think I am, but sometimes it's hard to determine the exact state of my vessel. Of course, it wouldn't be my vessel that would be doing the hovering, if in fact I was hovering, which is still uncertain –"

"Okay, Cas, I get it," Dean says. "Please shut up now. Oh, and you're not, uh, hovering, and I don't know why you think you are."

Dean thinks he was the epitome of patience and politeness, but Cas looks a little hurt, like he doesn't understand why Dean cut him off. The worst thing is that he probably really doesn't get it. Dean has to remind himself of that when he starts getting annoyed with Castiel (which, frankly, is often). Whatever tenuous grasp of social conventions and normal conversation that Cas once had, it's all gone now, and Cas doesn't even realize it. From what Dean can tell, Cas really thinks that everything he says is fascinating, important, and worth sharing. Dean doesn't always agree.

"I'll stop speaking," Cas says.

_Good things _do _happen_, Dean thinks snidely. Relief at last.

But they've only gone a few more steps before Castiel says, "Sam's right. If we can somehow trap Lucifer back in the Cage, we may stand a chance of averting the Apocalypse. It's at least a more sound plan than killing the devil."

Dean stops walking, wheeling around to scrutinize the angel. Dean's gotten used to hearing weird and useless things from Cas, but there have been too many out-of-the-norm moments lately. The rambling is normal. The name-confusion, the repetition, and this apparent revert to the past or loss of memory is not normal. And in Dean's experience, "not normal" is always bad.

"What is going on with you?" Dean asks roughly.

Castiel glances at him with an expression of carefully restrained annoyance. "I know what I'm doing, Uriel."

Okay. That's one too many times that Cas has confused Dean with one of his angelic dick brothers, and Dean's just not gonna take that anymore.

"Alright, that's enough. Come on, Cas, it's me, Dean. Tell me what's going on. Why're you amping up the crazy right now, huh?"

"We have to go," Castiel says instead of actually answering (of course). He reaches out for Dean before the hunter has time to draw back, and Dean braces himself for Angel Air yet again.

Instead, Cas gasps in pain and his hand tightens briefly on Dean's shoulder before he lets go and stumbles backwards. Dean watches in shock as Cas sinks to his knees, breathing heavily.

"Cas?" Dean says, breaking out of his trance and hurrying forward. He kneels down beside the angel. "What's wrong? You gotta tell me something, man. I can't help you if I don't know what's happening."

Cas grits his teeth as he looks up at Dean. His eyes are clearer than they've been since he took on Sam's Hell-baggage, and for a perverse moment Dean is grateful for Castiel's pain and this shitty situation, because at least it's brought a little bit more of his friend back.

"I believe something is wrong with my wings," Castiel says. "Also, I may have a fever. That's when a vessel's temperature is abnormally high, correct?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean responds intelligently. He's a bit stuck on the idea of Cas's wings. Of course he's always known that Cas is an angel and has wings and can fly and shit. He's even seen their shadows a few times. But it's one thing to know it and another thing to actually deal with it. How the hell is Dean supposed to fix an angel's wings? And in Purgatory, of all places?

"Do you think insects experience fevers, Dean?" Cas asks. His eyes are already losing their clarity, and wow, that was fast. Dean has to snap out of it and learn how to help Cas while Cas is still focused enough to tell him.

"Maybe. What's wrong with your wings? Can you fix them?"

"I'm not sure," Castiel says. "Let me…"

He trails off, and Dean's about to prod him again, but suddenly he hears that familiar rustle of feathers. Except this time it's accompanied by _visible _wings. Dean watches in barely-disguised awe as the two huge wings unfurl from Castiel's sides. They're a sooty grayish-black, their length spanning many feet, with huge, sleek feathers. Dean stares.

"I thought angels' wings were supposed to be white," he finally says.

"They are."

"Then why –"

"Hell has a tendency to… stain… things. Even after multiple resurrections, my true form is tainted, and this manifests in my wings because they are the closest to my true form."

Dean nods vaguely, still staring at Cas's wings. He feels awful at the thought of Cas getting tainted because of him and Sam, but he forces himself not to dwell on it. The wings are still pretty awesome. And he might be imagining things, but it looks like they're glowing faintly. Not enough to hurt Dean's eyes, though, or even light up the forest much.

"Dean."

"Hmm?" Dean snaps his gaze away and looks back at Castiel. The angel looks faintly exasperated.

"Can you see if there's anything wrong with them?"

"Oh. Right. Sorry," Dean says, bringing his mind back to the task on hand. It's really weird for Cas to be telling _Dean_ to focus, instead of the other way around.

Dean looks at the wings more clinically now, really hoping that he doesn't find anything amiss because he really wouldn't know what to do. Of course, if he doesn't find anything that means that he won't know what's wrong with Cas, and that wouldn't be good either. It's hard to see clearly with the dark feathers and there's nothing obviously wrong with Cas's wings, but then Dean sees a spot that seems to be glowing more than usual. He scoots forward and glances at Cas hesitantly.

"Can I –"

"Go ahead, Gabriel," Cas murmurs. Dean stills for a moment at the further sign of just how out of it Cas is, but then he forces himself into action. The sooner he figures out what's wrong, the sooner he can get Cas back to an acceptable level of insanity. Hopefully.

Dean tentatively parts the feathers surrounding the heavily glowing area. They feel just like bird feathers, but warm. Of course, that could be 'cause Castiel has a fever. Dean looks at the extra-glowy area and notices an unhealthy-looking swelling that seems to be leaking light. (And wow, does that sound weird.) It almost looks like the angelic equivalent of a very bad bug bite. Which, wait a minute…

"Cas, those monster bugs or whatever that we saw this morning. Do you think one of them could've stung you? Or, more specifically, stung your wing?"

"Insects don't sting me, Dean," Castiel says as if talking to a very small child. "We are friends. In fact, I gathered some honey from the bees myself and they di–"

"I'm talkin' about the mean bugs, Cas. You said they weren't very nice. They coulda stung you. I think they stung your wing, right here," Dean says, indicating the swollen area.

"Oh," Cas says. He cranes his neck to look at where Dean is pointing – an area on the top of his right wing. The angel frowns.

"I don't like the insects here, Dean."

"Yeah, me neither," Dean mutters. He figures that's as close to a confirmation that he's going to get about whether or not it's actually an insect bite. Dean decides to assume that it is.

"Okay, so how do we cure a monster bug bite? Can you heal yourself?"

Cas doesn't respond. He's whispering something to himself, in what sounds like Enochian, and his eyes are fluttering shut. Dean really can't adjust to how Cas seems to be switching from more with it than usual to way more lost than normal. Either way, There's one thing Dean knows for certain – this is no normal bug bite. It's causing dizziness, confusion, pain… they need to fix this, fast, before a monster finds them in this vulnerable position or Castiel gets worse.

"Cas, I need you to tell me what to do," Dean nearly pleads.

Castiel slowly opens his eyes. "Honey," he murmurs.

"Huh?"

"My baggie of honey. It'll help. Rub it on my wing."

"Rub it…?"

"It'll leech away the poison. Hopefully."

"_Hopefully_?"

Cas doesn't answer. His eyes are closed and his lips are moving. Dean wonders if he's praying.

"Okay, here goes nothing," Dean mutters. He reaches randomly into the pocket of Castiel's tattered trenchcoat and pulls out the baggie of honey. Cas has just been carrying this with him all throughout Purgatory? Damn, he is friends with a really _weird_ angel. Also, this could've really come in handy one of those many times that Dean was searching for food. But Dean can't bring himself to feel bitter about that, not if this honey will really save Cas now.

Still slightly tentative, Dean opens up the baggie and scoops up a handful. He leans forward and smears it onto the injured part of Castiel's wing. Some of the feathers are bent out of shape, so he smooths them down. They're surprisingly soft. Castiel murmurs something and his eyes blink open to gaze blearily at Dean.

"That feels nice," the angel says quietly.

Dean is startled to find that he'd been stroking Castiel's feathers for a while now. With a grimace, he draws back. He's not worthy to touch an angel's wings, even ones stained by Hell. Plus, it seems kind of… forward. Still, Dean decides to make Cas an appointment with a masseuse if they ever get out of here.

"Is it working?" Dean asks.

"Mmm," Cas says, sounding almost sleepy. "Maybe."

"Right," Dean says. "That's helpful. I'll just wait here and hope you don't die, then."

His voice breaks at the end of his sentence and he hates himself for being so weak. Why should he need Cas, anyway? Cas is insane, useless, and annoying. He betrayed Dean and hurt Sam. He's the reason they're stuck in Purgatory right now, the reason that Dean might never see Sam again, even indirectly the reason that Bobby's dead. Dean shouldn't want anything to do with him. And yet…

Dean looks at the creature lying before him. Castiel's messy hair, ratty hospital scrubs, and torn trenchcoat are illuminated by the faint light of his two enormous wings. Wings that are stained and gray because Cas rescued Dean and Sam from Hell. Dean watches the slow rise and fall of Cas's chest. He thinks about Castiel rambling about bees and smiling at him. About the angel's simultaneous strength and fragility.

As crazy as it seems, Castiel is his best friend. It doesn't matter that he's not human and that he's not even sane. He's Dean's friend, and Dean has lost him too many times, and he just _can't_ go through it again.

"C'mon, tell me it's working," Dean says (well, begs) after several agonizing minutes. "Do you feel better?"

He doesn't know what to do if it doesn't work. He doesn't know if this bug bite is fatal. He doesn't know anything.

"Yes, Dean, I feel better. Thank you," Cas says.

Dean sits down next to Cas, nearly knocked off his feet by an incredible wave of relief. He finally lets himself relax. Castiel is going to be okay. Thank God. Or, well, not God, probably. Thank the fact that Cas is crazy enough to carry honey around with him and that it actually helped the bug bite.

"Good. That's good," Dean says fervently.

"Mmhmm," Cas hums.

"We're damn lucky that the honey worked."

"Yes."

"I swear I won't make fun of your creepy love of bees again. I love them too, now. Well, as long as they're not the ones that gave you that bite in the first place."

"Dean?" Cas says, lifting his head a little to gaze tiredly at his human friend.

"Yeah?"

"Please be quiet."

Dean laughs. Cas is so polite, now - supposedly manners help stave off conflict. Maybe Dean should suggest that Cas "please be quiet" the next time the angel starts rambling. Maybe he should – okay, yeah. _Dean's_ definitely rambling this time.

"Okay, Cas. Sorry."

Dean leans next to Cas as he rests. The open wound on Castiel's wing seems to be slowly closing – angelic healing at work. It's kind of fascinating to watch, especially when Dean still hasn't gotten over the fact that he's looking at a goddamn _angel_ _wing_.

"Your wings are pretty cool," Dean admits. The adrenaline still leaving his system must've loosened his tongue.

Cas smiles. Not one of those open, crazy, enamoured-by-bugs smiles, but one of those soft, rare, barely there half-smiles that Dean remembers from the old Castiel. The one who fought by his side and accidentally scared off prostitutes and sometimes got sassy. Seeing that smile now feels like a gift.

(Wow, Dean's getting sappy, but somehow, he can't bring himself to care.)

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel replies. "Your… jacket… is very nice."

Dean grins, wondering if Cas will ever truly obtain social skills. He kind of doubts it. "It is, isn't it? Too bad it has Purgatory gunk all over it."

"I may be able to clean it," Cas offers, reaching a few fingers towards Dean, who quickly swats his hand away.

"No. You need to rest, not waste your mojo on dry-cleaning."

"Dry-cleaning," Cas huffs a little laugh. "That's funny. You're funny, Dean. You tell good jokes."

"That wasn't a joke," Dean says, confused. Of course, the first time Cas actually laughs at something he said and it's not even one of his witty one-liners. Then again, Castiel thought that Uriel was the funniest angel in the garrison, and Dean certainly hadn't seen any proof of that. Maybe Cas just always had a skewed sense of humor, even before his brain went all funny.

"Oh," Cas says. "Regardless, I could try to clean your jacket."

"No thanks, Cas. Seriously, It's fine. Rest."

"Okay." Castiel nods, finally quieting down and closing his eyes. He looks much more peaceful now than he did in the throes of his fever, and the wound on his wing is almost entirely closed. Soon they will have to get back up and continue their endless journey. Eventually they'll run into something that they can't cure with a baggie of honey, and that will be that. But for now, Dean keeps watch over his angel as the ancient being breathes quietly next to him.

Tomorrow is a new day. But for now, they can rest.


	5. Of Language and Faith

**A/N: **Hey all! Sorry for the long wait between updates. I was busy with another _Supernatural _story. /shameless self-pimp Anyways, I literally just wrote this, so please let me know what you think and point out any mistakes. I have no idea how a non-action-packed conversation grew to be over a thousand words long, but there you go. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Dean," Castiel says, distracting Dean from watching the dirty, twiggy ground beneath his feet. "Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean…"

"What?" Dean says. He mentally applauds himself at his patience. Earlier, when they first arrived in Purgatory, he would've snapped at Cas. Now, who knows how many days/weeks/months later, his tone is (relatively) calm.

"What?" Cas responds blankly.

"You were saying my name," Dean explains. "A lot. Over and over." He hadn't been imagining it, had he? Maybe this extended time and close proximity with Cas has made him crazy too.

Cas tilts his head and frowns, as if judging the validity of Dean's statement. Eventually, Cas says, "Yes, I was."

"So…" Dean says slowly, reaching into the not-so-considerable depths of his patience. "What did you want to tell me?"

"Oh, nothing in particular. I just enjoy saying your name, Dean. Dean Dean Dean. It's so very different from my name. Dean, Castiel, Dean, Castiel, Castiel, Cast-ee-el. I have so many more syllables."

Of course, this is crazy talk, but by now, Dean just rolls with it. "We have the same amount of syllables when you go by Cas. That's why I call you Cas, 'cause your actual name is too long and weird."

"Oh," Cas says. "I always thought it was one of the ways that you expressed your affection for me."

"Um," Dean replies eloquently. But seriously, what do you even say to something like that?

Luckily, Castiel has already moved on. "Sam has a one-syllable name too."

"Yeah, well, it's really short for Samuel."

"Then you must have also shortened his name out of convenience. Is your full name longer as well, Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean jokes. "My full title is actually Dean the Awesome, but I just go by Dean for convenience."

Castiel's brow furrows like he's really thinking that one through. Dean only feels a little bit bad. It's just so easy to mess with Cas.

"I don't think that's true," Cas eventually proclaims.

Dean grins. "Yeah, well, you don't know what you're talking about. You only have one name."

"Actually, in Enochian, my name is veh-un-fam-gisg-gon-graph-ur," Cas gargles.

Dean stares at him. Enochian's always impressed him a little, but that just sounded like gibberish. "I think I'll stick with Cas, thanks."

"Your name is gal-graph-un-drux. And Sam is fam-un-tal."

Dean kind of misses when all they would talk about was the Apocalypse and how to kill Cupids and stuff like that, with only the occasional off-duty chat here and there. He has no idea what to do with any of this random information.

"That's nice," he finally says.

"No, Dean, it's not nice. Enochian is not a nice language. It's always felt very sharp and spiky to me. English doesn't feel any better, with its hidden valleys and sudden drops. My favorite language has always been Finnish, because its vowels are so bright."

"I didn't realize bright vowels were necessary to enjoy a language." Dean doesn't know why he's still participating in this conversation (if you can even call it that). But Cas would prattle on even without his input, and it's not like there's anything better to do. Dean's really starting to understand the meaning of Purgatory as a waiting place – he's just here waiting for Castiel to find his marbles again. (Honestly, he's pretty sure his waiting is in vain.)

"Bright vowels aren't a must," Castiel explains patiently. "But they are certainly a contributing factor to the beauty of a language. They add a certain _ihana melu._"

"What's that mean?"

"Wonderful noise. It's Finnish. Could you hear how bright the vowels are, Dean?"

"If sound was light, I'd be blinded right now," Dean deadpans. Yeah, okay, maybe he's laying it on a bit thick, but what else is he supposed to do? He's surrounded by crazy 24/7. He can either ignore it, try to reason with it, or agree with it. Agreeing with it tends to give the best results, like right now, when Cas beams at him.

"Exactly! That's why I enjoy Finnish. Ooh, we should go to Finland, Dean."

"Uh, hate to rain on your parade, dude, but we're kinda stuck in Purgatory right now."

"Oh, right," Cas says, looking slightly crestfallen. Dean's still surprised sometimes by just how openly emotive this Castiel is. Yet somehow, he's harder to read and more unpredictable than the stoic, sane Castiel that was Dean's friend. (The stoic, sane Castiel who betrayed that friendship. But the more time Dean spends with Cas here, the less hung up he is about that. He's not sure if that's a good thing or not.)

After a moment, Cas visibly brightens as a new idea hits him. "Perhaps after we escape, assuming we do escape, which is not certain because I tend to be bad luck, _then_ we can travel to Finland."

"You're not bad luck, Cas, and I wouldn't care even if you were," Dean says for the millionth time. "And sure, what the hell, let's do that. I always wondered if Finnish chicks were hot."

"Excellent! And I'm not in a parade," Castiel adds, seemingly totally out of the blue.

"What?"

"You said that you were 'raining on my parade.'" Cas does his exaggerated finger quotes again. (Oh joy, Dean's so glad that's one of his behaviors that's stayed despite – maybe because of? – his newfound insanity.) "But I am not in a parade."

"It's an expression, Cas," Dean says, not bothering to hold back an eyeroll.

Castiel frowns. "I see. I dislike English expressions as well. They are tiresome, and always smell of rotten fish."

Dean actually laughs a little at that. "You can't badmouth somethin' just 'cause you don't like it, Cas."

"No, really, they're awful," Cas insists. "But I don't like Finnish expressions either. They smell too strongly of coconuts."

Dean wonders how much of this weird language talk is pure craziness, and how much is coming from some odd angel mixing of the senses. He heard about that once. Sammy had mentioned it on a case. Syn-something – synthetic? Synestia? He's not sure exactly. But it was a weird condition where people could see music or hear colors or something. A strange kind of sensory mash-up, kind of like Cas is describing.

"What about my name?" Dean asks, vaguely curious. "Got any weird comments on that, besides its shortness?"

"Your name is wonderful, Dean. The vowels glow as brightly as your soul and the entire word smells like friendship and faith."

Cas looks up at him with guileless blue eyes, and Dean's once again reminded of just how much trust Castiel puts into him. He threw away his old life because of Dean – hell, he's thrown away _several_ lives because of Dean – and he's always (well, almost always) followed Dean. Castiel acts like Dean knows everything and can lead Cas well. Of course, Dean's always known that he has no clue what he's doing, and anyone who puts any faith in him is bound to be disappointed. And now Castiel is even more vulnerable and he's _still _looking at Dean like Dean's the answer to all his problems.

"Friendship and faith don't have a smell," Dean finally scoffs, because once again, he has no clue what to do with that kind of statement. There's a tense edge to his voice that he can't quite hide.

Castiel glances away, tugging on the belt of his trenchcoat nervously. He must've picked up on Dean's whirlpool of emotions. He starts babbling anxiously. "Did I make you angry? I – I'm sorry. I can take it back. We don't have to talk about this anymore, we can play Charades instead, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorry..."

"Cas, it's fine, calm down," Dean soothes, placing a hand on Cas's shoulder to still the hyperventilating angel. "I'm not upset. I was just – thinking about what you said. I like it. Really."

Dean holds onto Cas until he sees the franticness depart from his eyes, leaving them dazed but peaceful. "You like it?" Cas asks in a small voice.

"Yeah."

Castiel smiles shakily. "I thought you might take offense to being called bright, because brightness isn't very 'manly.'" He does the finger quotes again.

Dean shrugs. "It's cool. I can work with bright. Swords are bright."

It looks like Cas has calmed down, so Dean starts walking again. Castiel, as always, follows him. Dean tries not to overthink it.

"Sam's name is also bright."

"Yeah?" Dean says. "Tell me more."

Cas is still looking a little jumpy, but he happily starts explaining the level of Sam's "shine" to Dean. Dean thinks of all the times, recent and long ago, that he's let Castiel down.

He'll do anything he can to help his friend now. He needs to live up to his "wonderful" name somehow.

* * *

**A/N: **The Enochian is from Wikipedia. I spelled out the letters of each name phonetically. Also, the neurological condition Dean is thinking about is synesthesia. The most common form is perceiving numbers or letters as inherently colored, although there are many different types. All involve a meshing of the senses. I've always thought it would be incredibly cool to have.


End file.
